4:09:43 + 14 Days

The 2013 Boston Marathon took place two weeks ago. What next?

It seems impossible, but today is two weeks since the Boston bombs heard round the world.

A friend emailed to ask: What next? “Everyone’s in shock,” he wrote. “Runners, the B.A.A., the press. Everything’s moving in slow motion. It’s painful and lonely. The running community is numb, rudderless. What next?”

I agree, there’s a queasy feeling among us. I only wish I were an oracle; I would then be happy to dispense the truth. Unfortunately, I’m not. I don’t have answers. But I believe the following.

Frank Shorter was mostly right, and maybe a little wrong.Shorter’s graceful, effortless win in the 1972 Olympic Marathon is often credited with launching the first running boom. That victory came just five days after radical Palestinians murdered 11 members of the Israeli Olympic team. Shorter has often said that he believed the Games should continue not so he could run his race, but so the terrorists would not get what they wanted: power and control. Quite right.

Shorter has also noted that he achieved his victory by blocking the terrorists from his mind. That’s no longer a viable option. The price we pay for freedom and democracy is eternal vigilance. We must not stop what we do, but neither can we ignore a threatening world. We must be always aware.

Race directors rank far below mayors, governors, and federal officials like FEMA and the FBI.The Boston Athletic Association, organizers of the Boston Marathon, have been almost as silent since 4-15 as Mary Wittenberg and the New York Road Runners were last November when Hurricane Sandy forced the cancellation of the NYC Marathon. No surprise. Our race directors know they are small fish compared to the feds and other pols, and need to be careful about stepping on toes. So they go mum. (They don’t even talk to Runner’s World; trust me.) And that’s a good thing. We can’t continue to hold our wonderful urban races without the support of far more people than we realize. As many have noted about Boston: Where did all those first responders come from, and how did they arrive so fast? (And thank goodness they did!)

President Obama gave one hell of a speech at the memorial service in Boston.I’m trying to find out if Obama ever watched a Boston Marathon while attending Harvard. No answer yet. But he sure sounded like someone who understood the Marathon’s emotional impact. Especially when he said the following:

“We carry on. We race. We strive. We build and we work and we love and we raise our kids to do the same. And we come together to celebrate life. And this time next year on the third Monday in April, the world will return to this great American city to run harder than ever and to cheer even louder for the 118th Boston Marathon. Bet on it.”

Runners want to run the Boston Marathon next April.I was at the Big Sur Marathon yesterday morning, where about 400 runners were completing a Boston-Big Sur “double.” The Big Sur official starter was Ron Kramer, senior event director for Dave McGillivray, Boston’s race director. In his pre-race remarks, Kramer hit two perfect notes: He called for a moment of silence for Boston’s dead and injured, and then a moment of cheering for Boston’s first responders, volunteers, and citizens.

After finishing Big Sur, a number of “BQ squeakers” came up to me, with grave looks on faces that should have been beaming. A BQ squeaker is someone who achieves the Boston qualifying time by a small margin—perhaps seconds, or a minute or two. “I’m worried that so many others will run so much faster than me that my Boston qualifier won’t be accepted for next year,” several of these runners said.

“Don’t worry,” I assured them, trying to sound like I knew something I don’t. “I don’t think the Boston organizers will small-time anyone for next year’s race.” I hope I’m right.

Next year’s Boston will be bigger and better than ever. Bet on it.I just don’t know how. Or what form the 2014 Boston Marathon will take. No one does at this point, and the decision might not come soon. The organizers have so many considerations (security, for beginners). So many constituents (the towns on the historic route). So many people who think they have a brilliant idea (you and me).

I do remember this: In 1996, before “wave starts” and superior timing systems, the 100th Boston Marathon hosted 36,748 starters, then the most-ever for a marathon, and it was glorious. I remember people who predicted a disaster. They declared that fist fights would break out, and that the shoving matches would get ugly as 36,000 hyperactive, over-caffeinated runners battled their way to the 25-foot-wide Boston start line.

I said, “No, I think not. Runners are better than that. Everyone understands that the centennial Boston Marathon is for celebration, not for bragging rights.” Turned out, I nailed it. The 1996 Boston was the most amazing day running has ever known, for a single, simple reason: Every one of the 36,000 runners contributed to making it just that.

I think next year’s Boston could be even more amazing. Personally, I’d like to see Boston go big—say 50,000 runners. I’d like to see half come from the now-traditional qualifying route, and half from charities and a lottery of some kind. I’d like to see massive support for the One Fund Boston, and perhaps other nonprofits that clearly benefit Boston’s public well-being. Races don’t usually dictate how their runners should raise funds; Boston should consider it next year.

I suspect Boston’s organizers will use official satellite races, like those that have been held for our military in Afghanistan and Iraq, to partially satisfy demand for next year’s Marathon. That’s fine. But I hope they will also allow it to go much bigger in Boston itself. We want to come together physically. We want to seek closure, no question. But most of all we want to thank everyone in Boston for 117 years of support, for all they suffered this year, and for all they nonetheless continued to give in the time of their own greatest pain.

Of course, there will be limits.The Boston Marathon cannot do all that I or anyone else would like. No organization could. Tom Grilk, Dave McGillivray, and their colleagues are logistics geniuses, but they are not sorcerers. They cannot salve the wounds they and their city suffered on 4-15, and they cannot minion to all of us either.

We are not powerless.You might not run a BQ any time soon. You might not get into Boston through other means. But you are not powerless. We are not powerless. Like Frank Shorter in Munich, we will run, and we will recover. We will recover best at the local level, where we live, run, and race. We all like to rhapsodize about an amorphous entity known as “the running community.” Now is the time to make it real, to knit the strands more tightly, through our friends, family, neighbors, coworkers, and training partners. There are infinite ways to do this, and we will discover them.

At a clinic the evening before the Big Sur Marathon—the kind of event where one commonly advises runners to eat pasta, sip sports drinks, and run a smart pace—I suggested a slightly different tactic.

Help another runner somehow, I said. Thank a volunteer. Clap more loudly for a spectator, than he/she is clapping for you. Carbs provide energy, it’s true. But we gain even greater strength by giving of our selves.